


Dead Teacher's Society

by indigowendigo



Category: Glee, Psych
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Gen, M/M, Mystery, somewhat crack-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 14:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigowendigo/pseuds/indigowendigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of thefts culminating in murder at Dalton Academy bring Shawn and Gus to Ohio--back to Ohio, in Shawn's case.  Can everyone's favorite psychic prove the innocence of a young Kurt Hummel, or will he make everyone's lives significantly more difficult trying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Teacher's Society

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I wrote this fic a while ago--like, three years ago almost. So it takes place season two of Glee and one of the earlier seasons of Psych, I can't even remember at this point. Also, when Shawn was on his little cross country motorcycle tour, he visited Lima and solved a murder. Yeah I took some liberties. But it was probably the most fun I've ever had writing a fanfiction, so I had to post it here. It's kind of crack-y in that it is unrealistic at some points, but hey, suspend your disbelief and whatnot. I hope someone somewhere enjoys this!
> 
> Also, let me know of any spelling/grammar mistakes! I wrote this three years ago, and while I did review and edit before posting, it's possible I missed something!

_1987_

_Teenage Shawn and Gus are sitting at the table in Shawn’s old kitchen. Shawn is busy building ‘the ultimate paper plane’ while Gus is leafing through a pamphlet labeled Clubs and Sports._

_“Shawn, shouldn’t you be picking what clubs you want to join? They look great on college applications,” Gus told Shawn, who appeared uninterested._

_“Gus, these clubs are just a waste of time. The only club I’d join is the Breakfast Club, and since the school board is showing a blatant disregard for my ideas, even though I had a petition of over one thousand signatures, I’m not joining any clubs.”_

_“Shawn, you made up all of those signatures.”_

_“They can’t prove that!” Shawn defended himself._

_“I’m pretty sure they can; Wonder Woman and Abraham Lincoln do not attend our high school,” Gus retorted. Shawn just grumbled in disdain. “I’ve already picked my three; Mathletes, Spirit Squad, and Glee Club.”_

_“And I’ve picked about a thousand reasons why you won’t be joining any of those clubs. Mathletes—well, the name pretty much screams nerd. Of course, you and I both know you’re one, but the whole high school doesn’t need to. Spirit Squad? If I thought for one second you were joining to get with cheerleaders, then I would say ‘go forth and conquer’. I know you better though; this is all about showing school spirit isn’t it? Sometimes I don’t know how we ever became friends. And Glee Club? That’s for losers.”_

_“Okay, I get the Mathletes thing, but I’m joining Spirit Squad, no questions. And Glee Club is cool, Shawn! Maybe you can join with me!”_

_“Gus, I say this because I care; Glee Club is boring, and you will be beaten up if you join.” Shawn said bluntly. Gus looked disheartened, but he gave in pretty easily._

_“Fine,” he grumbled._

**2010**

“Gus, I made a vow the minute—nay, the _second_ I left Ohio that I’d never return. Ever. And I don’t break vows. Promises? Sure. Swears? All the time. But a vow? Never.” Shawn rambled on and on, only contributing further to Gus’ headache.

“Shawn, will you drop it! There’s been an incident just outside of Lima, and frankly, the police there are baffled. You think I’m happy about this? I’m missing four day of work, Shawn. _Four days_.” Gus emphasized.

“So? Gus, do you know what I accomplish in four days, other than eating at least 16 meals, watching a minimum of three Brat Pack films, and getting a collective amount of 48 hours of sleep? Nothing,” Shawn replied uninterestedly as he examined the pocket in the airplane seat in front of him, which to his dismay didn’t contain any loose change.

“Well these are my work days Shawn. In work days, four days is really like a week,” Gus explained as though it were common knowledge.

“If four days in work days is a week, than what is four days in work days in dog years? I’m serious, I want to know,” Shawn countered as he leaned over Gus to check the pocket in front of him. Gus slapped him away.

“Can you just sit still until we get there? We’ll just get to this Dalton Academy place, solve whatever crime they have waiting for us, and leave.”

“No problemo. Knowing small places like Lima, their idea of a ‘big crime’ is probably someone clogging their only community toilet,” Shawn scoffed as he relaxed in his seat.

“Okay, first of all Shawn, that’s disgusting. Second of all, Westerville is outside of Lima, and is much nicer. Third of all, there’s no such thing as a ‘community toilet’. Fourth of all, last time you were here, you helped solve a murder; so basically, it’s your fault we’re being called here. Fifth of all-”

“Dude, how many ‘-of alls’ do you have? Isn’t there a limit on the usage of idioms in one sentence saying you stop after two?”

“’-of all’ isn’t an idiom, Shawn, it makes perfect sense when you look at the meanings of the words. And there are no rules on idioms, I would know, trust me,” Gus replied, flicking his nose with his thumb.

“Yeah, congrats, you’re the King of Idiocy,” Shawn retorted, clapping Gus on the shoulder. Before Gus could respond, the flight attendant’s voice came on over the speaker informing all passengers that they’d be landing in Lima in approximately six minutes.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Wow, you weren’t kidding, Gus,” Shawn said in slight awe. “This school looks like it cost more to build than every building in Lima put together,” he added, running his hands along the hand-carved banister of the stairwell closest to them.

“This is my kind of place,” Gus said in approval. 

“Yeah it’s stiff, uptight, and clearly very high class. It’s a shame you didn’t go here when we were younger, it would’ve been fun getting you kicked out…” Shawn trailed off when he saw an older woman enter the room. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun and she wore a crisp suit and a grave expression.

“You must be Mr. Spencer,” she said, extending a rather large hand to Shawn.

“Shawn Spencer, yes, but please, call me Chives,” he said as he shook her hand. Gus gave a subtle, yet at the same time quite obvious cough. “Oh, and this is my other half, Daphne Wilkins.”

“Burton Guster, ma’am,” Gus said as he shook her hand.

“Madame Opal, resident teacher for thirteen years,” the woman said stiffly. “Please step this way, and don’t touch any of the art on the walls,” she advised them sternly. Shawn, of course, took this as an open invitation to grope as many paintings and busts as possible.

“Shawn!” Gus said sharply. 

“What? Gus, whenever someone says ‘don’t touch the fine art’, they really mean ‘go ahead, we really want you to’. They just want to seem modest about it all. Besides, why else would they put it there?”

“To look at! To enjoy!” Gus hissed exasperated.

“Well mission accomplished; I’d say I’m enjoying myself quite nicely,” Shawn replied. Madame Opal knocked on a mahogany door and a deep voice from inside beckoned them in.

“Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster,” the man greeted them. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Doctor Richardson, the headmaster of this fine establishment. I assume the SBPD informed you of our case?” the man, Dr. Richardson, asked.

“Actually, sir, we weren’t given any specifics,” Gus said honestly.

“That’s quite alright, I suppose I have enough time to inform you. The trouble started about a week ago, in the bathroom on the first floor—”

“Dude, I told you!” Shawn shouted, practically jumping out of his seat. Gus gave him a glare that clearly said _stop imitating a crazy person and at least_ pretend _to be normal_ , while the Headmaster and Madame Opal stared at him, worried for his sanity. “I mean, pray go on,” Shawn said, suddenly very businesslike, his hands folded under his chin.

“Yes, well, as I was saying. About a week ago, a notebook was found on the floor of the boy’s bathroom by one of the students. At first, it was placed in the lost and found, and since the only thing in it were lists of random objects, dates, and times, nothing was thought of it. But then, things started disappearing. Artwork, valuables, student possessions; things of that sort. As the robberies continued, I started realizing that it all seemed familiar to me. By the time I realized that the items being stolen were coincidentally the items listed in the notebook found previously, the notebook was already gone.”

“I see… And is there anyone you suspect? A butler with a lazy eye? Or perhaps one of your students, with a troubled past and an intelligent monkey?” Shawn questioned, his tone serious but his eyes playful.

“Well, you’re not too far off on the second one. I do suspect it was a student, for I remember distinctly the notebook containing the monogram _K.H._ on the cover. It just so happens that our newest transfer student has those initials,” the headmaster confided.

“With all due respect, sir, that could merely be coincidental,” Gus replied.

“I thought that at first, too,” Dr. Richardson said, “but then I decided to do some research. Not only did the robberies start right after he transferred, but I also discovered some rather incriminating information. The boy has a troubled past indeed; his mother died when he was eight, he was bullied out of his old school for being homosexual, and his father recently had a heart attack, from which he almost didn’t survive,” the headmaster finished.

“This feels like one of those commercials where they guilt you into donating money to a worthy cause. Gus, take a note; when we get back to Lima, we’re donating to that Trevors’ Project thing. And some heart attack charity,” Shawn added in an afterthought. The headmaster, ignoring this, continued.

“On a more personal note, I also learned from some of his peers that this boy is quite…particular when it comes to his wardrobe. He wears only high priced, designer items. With the medical bills from his father’s heart attack, there’s no way his father could afford his clothes and pay their debts at the same time—he owns a garage, and other than helping out there, the son is unemployed. They had to have gotten the money from somewhere, and if that doesn’t scream guilty, than quite frankly, I don’t know what does,” the headmaster finished sitting back in his chair.

“How about Lindsay Lohan showing up to court with “Fuck You” painted on her nails? Or perhaps on a more innocent note, Pooh Bear with his head caught in a honey jar. That bear never learns,” Shawn chuckled fondly, earning himself an elbow to the rib from Gus.

“While that does sound suspicious, we can’t make any surefire decisions just yet,” Gus said.

“Yes, if it’s possible, I’d like to question this boy,” Shawn said.

“Of course. Madame Opal, go fetch for me Kurt Hummel.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn kept his eye trained on the door as ‘Kurt Hummel’ entered. The first thing Shawn noticed was the boy’s neatness; hair lightly gelled up, uniform pressed and tucked in, shoes were spotless, and not a blemish on his skin. The next thing he noticed was the way his hand clutched nervously at his bag, which sure enough, looked very expensive. Finally, he noticed the way the boy held his head up high. From this, Shawn got a good reading of who the boy really was.

“Headmaster, Madame Opal, would you mind stepping out of the room? I’m getting a psychic vibe, and it’d be best if I’m alone with the suspect,” Shawn said as he closed his eyes and brought his fingers to his temples. “Besides, if what the spirits are saying means anything, Gus has been dying to ask where you get your clothes.”

“I actually inherited this suit from my grand-father,” Dr. Richardson said, brushing out invisible wrinkles.

“Actually, I was referring to Madame Opal—Gus is quite found of women’s suits.”

Gus shot Shawn one last _I hate you_ glare before leaving the room with the two elders.

“Kurt Hummel. Age: 15. Sign: Libra.” Shawn said, opening his eyes to stare at the boy, who had one neatly plucked eyebrow raised.

“Correct, off by two years, and correct again,” he said coolly.

“Ah, yes, I thought fifteen was stretching it. Thirteen it is,” Shawn said, ignoring Kurt’s eye roll. “Do you know why you were called here?”

“Well at first I thought it was for disobeying the dress code, but now I’m thinking this is some sort of hazing ritual. What are you supposed to be, a mind-reader? A hypnotist? Did the Warblers put you up to this?” the boy asked skeptically. _Untrusting of others_ , Shawn noted.

“No. This is much more serious than a prank. And by the way, I’m a psychic detective,” Shawn said, for some reason eager to impress the icy teen. Kurt just snorted, and rolled his eyes again.

“You came to Dalton because you were being bullied, about your sexuality. You put up a calm and cool façade, but the truth is, you’re terrified now. You’ve held you emotions inside, because up until now, you’ve had no one to confide to; with your mother deceased, and your father’s condition preventing him from getting worked up over anything, you’re feeling incredibly alone right now,” Shawn said, reveling in the way the boys face changed, looking annoyed and upset, but with a faint hint of impressed.

“I suppose that might be true. But that doesn’t explain why I’m here,” Kurt said, keeping up the façade, though clutching his bag tighter.

“You seem nervous, Kurt. Perhaps I could invite one of your friends to join us in, if it would make you more comfortable?” Shawn asked.

“Isn’t this supposed to be like an investigation? Is that allowed?” Kurt asked confused.

“Oh, don’t think of this as an investigation, think of it as a game! I ask you questions, you give me answers. Or we could switch it up a bit and I’ll ask you questions, and then psychically obtain the answers. Now, would you like to phone a friend?” Shawn asked seriously. At this the younger boy cracked a smile, albeit a small one, before giving Shawn the name of which friend to call. Shawn left the room momentarily to use the phone at the front desk, and returned with a disgruntled Gus at his side. A few minutes later, Blaine Anderson burst into the room, panting and out of breath.

“W-Where’s…Kurt?” Blaine questioned, looking relieved before running up to the boy and hugging him as tight as he could. “I thought you got in an accident!”

“What? What did you tell him?” Kurt demanded to Shawn, who just gave a hearty laugh.

“Well I certainly didn’t say I was the headmaster and inform him you were in a bad car accident. Actually, that’s exactly what I did. I had to know what his relationship was with you.” Both boys glared at Shawn, clearly not finding the humor or genius in that plan. “It worked though. So, how long have you two been dating?” Shawn asked, enjoying their discomfort; Kurt blushed bright red, while Blaine’s mouth hung open slightly before regaining composure.

“We’re just friends,” Blaine said, as Kurt nodded furiously. “And just who are you, anyway?” Blaine asked politely, yet assertively. Shawn noticed the two were still standing rather close together.

“Shawn Spencer, Psychic Paleosleuth,” Shawn said, casually slapping the hand Blaine had extended to him. “But you can refer to me as ‘ _Oh captain, my captain_ ’.” Ignoring the request, Blaine continued.

“And what’s the real reason you called me down here? Surely it wasn’t to watch me panic,” Blaine reasoned, ever polite yet clearly agitated.

“Silly me, I sometimes forget that not everyone is blessed with my ability to know the unknown; to answer every unasked question; to look deep into the souls of man. Kurt, you were right earlier; this is an investigation. You’re the prime suspect of Grand Larceny,” Shawn said, very dramatically. 

“On what grounds?” Blaine demanded, a comforting arm slung ‘casually’ around Kurt’s shoulder.

“On the grounds that Kurt is the perfect suspect; he has a troubled past, what with his mother’s death and the school harassment, his father’s recent heart attack means plenty of bills to be paid, and the fact that he is unemployed and his father owns a small garage means not enough money to pay their debts. Not to mention his taste for expensive materials,” Shawn concluded. Kurt’s face blanched, as did Blaine’s. “That, and the fact that the journal in which the heists were plotted so deviously was anagrammed with the initials _K.H._ ”

“You mean monogrammed,” Gus amended, finally ending the silent treatment he’d been giving his best friend.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn said nonchalantly. “Don’t worry, though, I know you’re innocent,” he added smiling.

“Y-You just said I was the perfect suspect!” Kurt said incredulously. “Am I going to get arrested or not?” Kurt asked panicked, yet still trying to keep control of things.

“Most definitely not. But I will, however, have to investigate you to be on the safe side. I’ll start with the root of your troubles; you transferred from McKinley High, am I right?”

“Wait, Shawn,” Gus spoke up. “Shouldn’t we check out _this_ school first, you know, since it _is_ the scene of the crimes?”

“You’ll have to excuse my brother, Puff Coco, he sometimes forgets that _I’m_ the psychic one,” Shawn said with a laugh, while Gus very professionally kicked him in the kneecap. “On second thought,” Shawn said after a sharp intake of breath, “we’ll split up. Gus, you and Neil Perry can stay here. I’ll take Kurt back to McKinley and investigate there.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“I’m sorry, we’re _what_?” Rachel demanded in a shrill voice. The whole glee club was talking frantically among themselves.

“Relax Rachel, you’re all just going to be asked a few simple questions by Mister… what was it again?” Mr. Schuester asked, glancing expectantly toward Shawn.

“Mann. Mr. Mann,” Shawn replied seriously.

“Look, whatever you _think_ I did, I _didn’t_ ,” Puck said, glaring at Shawn and clearly sizing him up. Shawn glared back, but for different reasons. _Oil on the cuff of his jeans, a hand running through his Mohawk nervously, and wear marks on the knees of his jeans._

“Don’t worry, this isn’t about the car you hotwired last night,” Shawn said, shocking the club. “I’m a psychic detective, and I’m here to ask you about your friend, Kurt Hummel.”

“What happened to Kurt?” Mercedes demanded, giving Shawn a look that said “tell me or I’ll cut you”.

“He’s perfectly fine, if not a little shaken from the ride here. He’s been accused of a serious crime at Dalton; so serious, that if I told you, I’d have to make you pinky swear not to tell anyone,” Shawn said. “What, you don’t still do pinky swears? What about blood brothers?” Shawn inquired at the nonresponsive faces staring back at him.

“W-wait, did y-you say K-Kurt’s here?” Tina stuttered out.

“Yes, and by the way, you can lose the stutter, I know it’s fake,” Shawn said, looking smug. “Kurt!” Shawn shouted out of the choir room. Kurt entered, paler than usual and slightly trembling, with a scowl etched on his features.

“Dude, what happened?” Finn asked worriedly.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Get caught in a toxic spill? Bit by a radioactive bug?” Shawn questioned, interrupting Kurt. “Seriously, what are you? 6’5”? 

“ _That_ rode me here on a _motorcycle_!” Kurt seethed through his teeth, sitting down next to Mercedes, who smoothed out his collar before pulling him into a hug.

“Look, I offered to take us in Gus’s rental car, but you refused to because it clashed with—”

“Hold up—you ride?” Santana asked, raising an eyebrow seductively. “That’s pretty badass,” she said, striding over to stand next to Shawn. “Even you don’t have a motorcycle, Puckerman,” she sneered at Puck, as she inched closer to Shawn. “I ride, too you know,” she said in his ear. “And I’m not talking bikes.”

“ _Santana_ ,” Mr. Schue said warningly, and the Latino girl slinked back to her chair, seemingly unphased.

“Hey, I’m plenty badass without one; you heard the psychic, I hotwired a car!” Puck defended himself while flexing his biceps.

“Okay, I think we can all agree that while hotwiring a car _can_ be badass, riding a motorcycle is infinitely more sexier,” Shawn said in a not-so-good attempt to alleviate the tensions. “Now, onto the—”

“Will?” a meager voice came from the doorway. Emma scurried inside to stand next to Mr. Schuester. “Don’t mind me,” she said to Shawn, “I’m here in case any of the students feel overwhelmed by the questioning. I’m the guidance counselor, Emma Pillsbury,” she said, looking as if she wanted to shake his hand, but changing her mind. _Neat clothing, not-so-faint smell of Lysol, hesitant to make contact._

Shawn began patting his back pockets. “How irresponsible of me, I seem to have forgotten my hand sanitizer in my car,” Shawn said with a gentle chuckle. “I usually carry it with me everywhere; you can never be too careful when it comes to germs, right? Perhaps we could formally shake hands later, over lunch?” Shawn asked.

“S-sure,” she said with a smile, after glancing hesitantly at Mr. Schuester, who was busy shooting his own look at Shawn.

“I’m looking forward to it. But now, I have a crime to solve,” Shawn said, pacing back and forth in front of the club. “Now, Kurt, is there anyone who would want to frame you like this? Anyone who has anything against you?”

“Hmph,” Kurt snorted. “Try the half of the football team that isn’t in Glee,” he replied.

“Namely the homophobe, Dave Karofsky,” Rachel piped up.

“Excellent! Now we have a new suspect, thank you, Pippy Longstocking. Now, where can I find this Dave Karofsky?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business,” a cool voice drawled from behind Shawn. Sue stood with her arms folded over her orange jumpsuit-clad chest. “Unless you have a warrant to investigate these air-suckers, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or force you from the premises. I’ll just let you know now I can kill a man using only my whistle,” she threatened in an eerily calm manor, holding up a shiny silver whistle that under any other context would seem harmless, but now felt as lethal as a butcher’s knife. 

“I don’t doubt that,” Shawn said solemnly. “And a warrant? Really? I’m just asking them questions,” Shawn insisted. 

“Listen to me Sherlock, unless you have an official police warrant, I don’t want to see your pathetic ass or your gravity-defying hair around here anymore,” Sue said finally.

“Well in that case, just give me a few hours,” Shawn said, clearly sensing Sue was not a woman to mess with, whipping out his cell phone, and clicking speed dial #3.

“Hey, Jules,” he said in a sweet voice.

“What do you want Shawn?” Juliet asked abruptly, in her no-nonsense voice. He could hear papers shuffling and heavy steps in the background.

“I need you and Lassie to get down here, it’s an emergency,” Shawn said.

“Down there? As in _Ohio_? You do realize that’s a two hour flight?” Juliet asked skeptically.

“What kind of emergency are we talking, here?” Lassie’s voice demanded from the other end.

“Lassie? What happened to Jules?” Shawn asked.

“As her partner, I maintain the right to know what cases she’s taking at all times, so I tapped her phone. Couldn’t you ‘sense’ that already?” Lassie scoffed, as Jules yelled at him in the background about “an invasion of privacy”.

“My psychic senses are focused on something much bigger; it’s a case down here in Lima, Ohio, and I need your help. You, Detective Carliter Lassiton, are the only one who can handle a job involving… drug smuggling, murder, and…wait for it…explosions.”

“There’s been an explosion? How big are we talking?” Lassie demanded, already grabbing his coat from his chair.

“Huge! Took out an entire street, including a cat shelter!” Shawn lied, as the Glee Club and the teachers stared in bewilderment.

“We’ll be there in exactly four hours and twelve minutes. Give or take five, but if we’re over ten minutes late, I need you to call the chief and tell her I’ve been captured by one of the many scumbags I’ve locked up; my head would fetch a pretty penny on the black market,” Lassie said before hanging up. Shawn glanced at the clock; it was 11:30am now, meaning Lassie and Juliet should arrive sometime around 5.

Sue eyed Shawn up and down before giving him an almost approving look. “I changed my mind. While you reek of pineapple, and your appearance is eerily similar to that of the hobo living outside the Starbucks in front of my house, your ability to lie your balls off to get what you want is…promising. The name’s Sue Sylvester; remember it, kid, it’s the most important name you’ll hear,” she said. “You can wait here until you get the warrant, but no questions—I’m only allowing you to stay because this involves Porcelain’s safety. In the meantime, not a single one of you jelly sacs can leave this room.” The entire club groaned their irritation, but it soon subsided when Artie announced that this meant missing all of their classes with an acceptable excuse.

Exactly four hours and twelve minutes later, Lassie and Juliet showed up, and were more than confused when Shawn directed them, via cell phone, to a local high school.

“Spencer, I swear to God if you lied about the explosions I will personally search your records for any charge I can to land you in jail,” Lassie threatened as he walked into the choir room. Shawn knew the threat was moot, however, because Lassie already did that biweekly. Hell, he probably did it daily.

“Explosions? Who said anything about explosions? No, I just needed a police warrant,” Shawn said cheerfully.

“You mean you had us fly down here to give you something we could’ve _mailed_ to you?” Juliet demanded, looking ready to whip out her gun.

“I missed you! And you too Lassie! Plus, the mailing would’ve taken three days _at least_ , and frankly I don’t have that kind of time.” Shawn said, ever smiling. “Now, please inform this kind woman that I have every right to interrogate these kids.”

“Come on, Coach, we’ve been here for hours, just let them!” Quinn argued, Santana and Brittany nodding along with her. Well, Santana was nodding—Brittany was more like twitching.

“Nope, I need to hear it from the Mr. Bean with the guns,” Sue said, eyeing Lassie. “By the way, I approve of the use of multiple weapons—I myself have a triple holster. It was specially made for me by a deaf man in Timbuktu,” Sue boasted.

Lassie flashed his badge, muttered something about Shawn being allowed to investigate, and then furthered his conversation with Sue. “A triple holster? They don’t make those,” Lassie scoffed.

“Are those ears just for flying or do they actually listen? It was specially made for me—the third gun is fastened between my bosoms,” she said matter-of-factly. “As to whether or not I have it on me now, well, that’s none of your business.”

“A woman of mystery,” Lassie said with a smile, while Juliet fought to hold back her lunch.

“Listen up Salt-n-Pepper, I’m going to my office now. I’m not going to ask you to come with me, but if you were to follow me, I just might let you,” Sue said by way of invitation.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lassie said, following the leaving Sue like a puppy. The room stared as the two left, each individual with a look of either confusion or repulsion, thinking of what would be going on in that office. Ugh, _repress_.

“This is going to be just like the Chief’s sister,” Shawn said to Juliet, who nodded in agreement. 

“Yo, Psychic, who’s the hottie?” Puck asked, staring at Juliet. 

“Way out of your league,” Shawn scoffed, at the same time feeling annoyed. 

“Please, nobody can resist Puckzilla,” Puck said, once again flexing his muscles. “You single? Not that it matters,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

“I carry a gun, and a license to use it,” Juliet said forcefully. Oddly enough, the room accepted that as her answer.

“Whatever, not my type anyway,” Puck muttered before leaning back in his chair and throwing an admiring glance towards Lauren.

“Yes, well, back to what we were discussing. Now, where can I find this Karofsky boy?” Shawn asked the room. Mike, who was holding hands with Tina, was the first to speak up. 

“He’s probably at football practice still,” Mike said. “I would check with Coach Beiste.”

“Of course!” Shawn said, as if reminded of a once forgotten fact. “I’m afraid I don’t know my way around this school. And also if she’s like the other coach, I’m scared. Perhaps one of you could go find Coach Beiste?” Shawn asked, peering around the room.

“I’ll do it,” Brittany said in a monotone.

“Ah, thank you!” Shawn replied, waiting expectantly for her to get up. Brittany remained seated, staring blankly ahead. This went on for about a minute before Santana walked over, leaving Sam, to her, linked pinkies, and pulled her out of the room.

“Okay,” Shawn said, uncertainly. “That was…I’m not gonna lie, that was weird.”

“Brittany isn’t the sharpest needle in the pin cushion,” Kurt said truthfully. “But she’s sweet,” he added. _Shifting awkwardly, defending her, looking almost…guilty?_

“Ah yes, you would feel compelled to say that considering she was your first kiss, no?” Shawn asked, not waiting for an answer before replying “I thought so. Now, what I really want to know is what prompted that, hm?” Before Kurt had a chance to give Shawn a piece of his mind, as well as a lecture on privacy, Brittany and Santana returned, followed by Coach Beiste and Karofsky.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Karofsky grunted, confused.

“Why don’t you tell us, big boy?” Shawn asked. “I’ll give you a hint, it involves Kurt Hummel.” Karofsky’s eyes darted toward the aforementioned boy, and Shawn saw something flash through his eyes—multiple somethings, actually. _Fear, angst, and…longing? Longing._ “And it’s not about the kiss you two shared.”

The room fell dead silent at the shocking revelation. Karofsky had a look on his face as if he’d just been punched by his best friend—a look of betrayal. Kurt looked white as a sheet, eyes widened. The rest of the glee club was silent, until…

“The fuck is going on here?” Puck demanded, looking back and forth between Karofsky and Kurt. “You two hate each other!”

“You’re the reason Kurt had to transfer!” Rachel shouted, indignant. Karofsky still looked too shocked to say anything, but managed to regain his angry complexion.

“I’m not going to sit here so you can accuse me of bein’ a fag like the homo queen over there,” he said, shoving past Shawn and leaving the room.

“On the plus side…he didn’t frame Kurt,” Shawn said in a cheerful tone. The entire club ignored him, however, in favor of staring at Kurt. Now that Karofsky had left, he no longer looked scared—he looked venomous. Leaving his seat, he marched to the front of the room, grabbed Shawn by his collar, and yanked him out into the hallway.

“What. The. _Fuck_.” He hissed at the older man. “Do you actually hear what you say, or is it all just a buzzing noise to you?” he demanded.

“Look, I can’t control when my visions come to me,” Shawn reasoned. “But I know I’m right—you two kissed, didn’t you?”

“You imbecile! You know what? I’m am _thoroughly_ interested in hearing your take on the matter. Tell me; since you’re such an amazing psychic, what _exactly_ do you think happened between me and Dave Karofsky?” he seethed, still furious.

“Well there’s a lot of ways this could go…Maybe you’re into bad boys? No, that’s not it. Secret make out sessions after his football games? Just kidding, I’m pretty sure I got that from a movie. Um…” Shawn was running out of ideas, but Kurt had plenty of bitchface to dish out.

“You really are a new level of stupid, aren’t you?” Kurt asked. “Karofsky _wasn’t out_ yet. Nobody knew he was gay! I was the only one who knew, and for your information, there were no make-out sessions! I was fed up with this bullying crap, so I followed him into the locker room to give him a piece of my mind, and he just kissed me. I didn’t want it at all, we aren’t ‘a thing’, and I try to keep away from him! The whole reason I transferred was because he threatened to kill me if I told anyone, and now that you’ve outed him in front of the glee club, he’s going to think I told!” Kurt yelled, as loud as he could while still whispering.

“I—oh. Oh I guess I kinda messed up,” Shawn said, running a hand through his hair. “Relax, I’ll think of something, I always do,” he said, earning a slap on the shoulder from Kurt. “I have an idea!”

“Well please share before it dies of loneliness,” Kurt drawled in an icy tone.

“I’ll tell them I had another vision saying that the whole thing was just a mix up!” Shawn said, as if that solved all of their problems.

“You’re insufferable. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do some damage control so that I don’t end up _dead_.” With that, Kurt marched back into the choir room, and Shawn followed reluctantly, for once feeling a little ashamed.

“He was just kidding,” Kurt announced to the club, with Shawn nodding enthusiastically at his side. “And he’s learned his lesson about messing with sensitive issues, so we’ll just be heading back to—”

“Kurt, you best not be lying to me right now,” Mercedes warned. “We all saw your face, and that was no lie. What happened between you and Karofsky, and how hard do I have to kick his ass?” she demanded, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t think you’re having all the fun, Aretha, I want in on this beat-down,” Puck said, with nods of approval from the rest of the club. 

“I’m gonna smack him down like the hand of god,” Lauren said, squinted her eyes and effectively scaring the crap (figuratively) out of Shawn. “He’s earned himself a seat in the Temple of Zizes, and he’ll praying for mercy before I even get started.” Puck shot a look at her like he wanted to jump her bones right then and there.

“Look, guys, I can’t explain what happened, but I need you guys to do me a favor,” Kurt said, almost pleadingly.

“Anything, Kurt,” Tina said with a smile.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, I mean it,” Kurt insisted. “What happens in glee club, stays in glee club, okay?” he asked, looking around at his fellow glee clubbers. Surprisingly, Puck was the first to agree to that.

“What? If wooing Lauren has taught me anything, it’s that you gotta be patient. So I’ll be patient, and wait for the OK from Kurt to KO Karofsky,” Puck said, shrugging his shoulders at his disbelieving classmates. Slowly, they began murmuring agreements and relaxing a bit.

“Thanks, guys,” Kurt said, immensely relieved. “I’m glad that—” Kurt was cut off by the sound of an obnoxious and loud ringtone.

“Damn, I could’ve sworn I turned this off,” Shawn said with a laugh, reminding everyone of his presence. “Hey Gus,” he said cheerfully. 

“Shawn you need to get down here, this case just took a turn for the worse,” Gus said gravely.

“More theft?” Shawn asked, though sincerely doubting that was it.

“No, it’s Madame Opal. Me and that Blaine boy were asking around some of the students, but they came up with nothing. We went to return to the Headmaster’s office, and Madame Opal was dead. Dr. Richardson came in and fainted when he saw her, so it’s no use questioning him,” Gus added, sounding slightly strangled.

“We’ll be there in a few, buddy. Remember, deep breaths, and the bathroom is down the hall to the left,” Shawn said.

“How is it you know where the bathroom is if you were here hardly an hour and you never even went?” Gus asked skeptically. This was just like the time Shawn “accidently” gave him directions to a master bedroom instead of the bathroom—a rather _occupied_ master bedroom.

“Gus, it’s _always_ down the hall and to the left. C’mon buddy, keep up,” Shawn replied before hanging up. “Alright, Kurt, we have to head back to that prep school—things just got serious,” he said, rubbing his hands together in excitement.

“I swear on my entire collection of Gucci, if you go over 25 I’ll cover your eyes and crash us into a tree. If I’m going down, I’m not afraid to take you with me,” Kurt said, jabbing a finger in his face before sweeping from the room.

“I am actually sincerely afraid,” Shawn said to no one in particular. “Huh.” With that he left the room, making a mental _billboard_ not to go over 25. When he got outside, Kurt was already waiting by his rental bike, which he liked a lot less than his real bike back home, glaring at it as if willing it to spontaneously combust.

“You know, I think I changed my mind, I’ll walk.” Kurt said, turning away from the offending vehicle. Before Shawn could call him back, someone beat him to it.

“Hey homo!” Karofsky yelled from behind them.

“Listen, I figured that in a time like this Gus would probably tell me to apologize, so—”

“Shut it, freak, I’m not here to talk to you. I’m here because I think I owe Kurt something for blabbing lies about me to his little friends,” Karofsky said, shooting an angry look towards the smaller boy.

“Listen, he didn’t tell anyone. I’m a psychic, and the vision of you two kissing just came to me, and I shouldn’t have said anything, but I did, and I’m… sorry. And although I wouldn’t advise it—because although you may be bigger than me, I happen to be a black belt in karate, and I can psychically predict your attacks—if you’re going to fight someone, fight me. But like I said, I wouldn’t, because I can easily kick your ass from here to that truck over there,” Shawn said, forming his hands into two karate chops.

“Actually, you won’t be fighting anyone,” a voice said coolly from behind all three of the boys.

“Juliet!” Shawn said smiling.

“I was just leaving, and so was he,” she said, shooting daggers towards Karofsky and flashing her badge at him. Karofsky may be dumb, but he wasn’t stupid—he knew what a badge meant, and he knew to back away. “Do you need any other help, or can I check out that spa I passed on the way here?” she asked Shawn. Surprisingly, Kurt responded for him.

“You mean _Chi_? Oh, don’t go there, the service is horrid. Two miles that way,” Kurt said, pointing down the road, “is Lima’s best kept secret, _Oasis_. Ask for Donna, I swear she has the magic touch,” Kurt said, reminiscing about the time he went with Mercedes and Quinn.

“Uh, sounds good,” Juliet said with a smile. “Thanks,” she added before walking off to her rental car, leaving Lassie at the school. The way she figured, if he really wanted a ride he wouldn’t have left her to go…do something with that creepy woman.

“Okay, like I said I’m just going to—”

“Relax, I’ve been riding a motorcycle longer than you’ve been walking,” Shawn said. “I’ve never crashed,” he said brightly. “To be fair, I _was_ run off the road by a spelling bee champion’s murderer father, but…” he trailed off. “Anyway,” he said, straddling the bike and starting the motor, “just put on that helmet and hold on tight.”

“Fine,” Kurt grumbled, snatching the helmet. “But don’t forget what I said about going kamikaze on you—I’ll do it!” he warned.

Luckily for Shawn’s safety, he managed to refrain from speeding. This, however, made the ride to Dalton take longer than it should have, and the local police were already there.

“Shawn!” Gus called them over to where he and Blaine were sitting, outside of the headmaster’s office. Next to them was Dr. Richardson, looking slightly pale, along with a gruff looking man who Shawn had never met before.

“Kurt!” the man yelled, looking incredibly relieved as he pulled him into a hug.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Kurt asked, returning the hug but surprised.

“I came here immediately when they called, I’m not just going to let them accuse you of theft!” Burt insisted.

“But your heart—”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Kurt, my heart’s fine. I want to clear this whole mess over,” Burt said finally, motioning for Kurt to sit next to him. 

“What happened?” Kurt asked, looking around at all of the policemen.

“Madame Opal was murdered,” Blaine said gravely, looking down. Kurt raised a hand to his mouth, which dropped open in shock.

“Oh my…that’s horrible,” Kurt said quietly. Finally, Dr. Richardson spoke up.

“And where exactly were you, Mr. Hummel, when all of this was happening?” the headmaster demanded, not sounding too happy.

“Excuse me?” Kurt asked in disbelief.

“What are you trying to say, headmaster?” Blaine demanded with as much politeness as he could muster.

“Come now, surely I’m not the only one that finds it suspicious? He’s our main suspect, and he just disappears right before a woman is _stabbed_ to death?” Dr. Richardson continued.

“This is my _son_ you’re accusing, and I don’t care who you are, you have no right to!” Burt yelled angrily.

“Look, Kurt was with me the whole time—there’s no way he could’ve killed her, and there’s no way he would’ve,” Shawn insisted. “C’mon, Gus, we should go check it out,” Shawn said before he and Gus pushed past the officers and into the room. Luckily for them, the LPD chief recognized Shawn, and allowed him and Gus entrance.

“Where’s the body?” Shawn demanded.

“Behind the desk, you can’t tell until you get next to it. It’s a good thing Blaine didn’t actually see the body, or he’d be scarred. He’s probably not as tough as me, you know, with my experience and everything,” Gus said, flicking his nose with his thumb.

“What do you mean he didn’t see?” Shawn asked. “I thought he was with you.”

“He stayed at the door, and like I just said, you can only see the actual body from the side of the desk. He could see the blood, though, because it seeped into a puddle that was pretty visible. I warned him not to get any closer,” Gus said.

“So you ran screaming from the room and he followed, concerned for your sanity?” Shawn asked.

“Whatever, Shawn, that didn’t happen,” Gus said.

“Actually, that’s pretty much exactly what happened,” Blaine called from the doorway. “Although I’m pretty sure he cried at one point, too.”

“ _Thanks_ ,” Gus said sharply. “And I was going to show you my sample case!”

“Sorry,” Blaine apologized with a half smile, while Kurt stood at his side. Burt pulled them both away from the room, claiming they didn’t need to see a murder scene.

“And what happened to the lamp? Was that already broken when you came in?” Shawn asked, referring to the pile of ceramic scraps that lie on the floor next to the door.

“No, actually, Dr. Richardson knocked that over when he passed out,” Gus said. “And by the way, at least _I_ didn’t pass out!” Gus insisted, looking proud of himself.

“I got it!” Shawn said, ignoring him. “I know who the killer is,” Shawn said loudly, flailing his arms around and jumping atop the desk. “Woah! Woah, easy girl!” Shawn yelled, as his right hand seemed to move of its own accord and reached into one of the draws. He slammed it closed seconds later, and continued checking the rest until he found one with a thick manila folder in it.

“Aha!” Shawn yelled, emptying its contents on the desk and looking them over for a second or two before turning away. “The murderer is—Dr. Richardson!” Shawn said, pointing an accusatory finger at the doctor, who had just entered the room at the sound of the commotion, along with Burt, and Kurt and Blaine trailing behind him.

“What? That’s preposterous!” the headmaster yelled in indignation.

“Is it? You see, my fellow justice seekers,” Shawn said, further capturing the attention of the policemen and women, “if you look at those papers on the desk, you’ll notice that the items listed coincide with the items stolen! Each item listed there has an insurance policy worth millions of dollars,” Shawn continued, screwing his eyes closed and raising one hand to his temple. “I can see Dr. Richardson now! Something’s not right, though, this doesn’t make sense! How could someone with a high paying job at such a fine institute be as broke as he is? Gambling!” Shawn yelled. “He has a dirty, dirty problem and he just doesn’t know how to play his cards right. He’s losing all of his money, he’s forced to sell his own possessions—his clothes included! He’s been patching up old suits that others have thrown out; claiming the reason for their scruffiness is that he’s ‘inherited’ them from his grandfather. But, if you look at _that_ portrait on the wall,” Shawn said, pointing to a portrait of a tiny man with oversized glasses, “you’ll see that his grandfather was a great deal smaller than he is! There’s no way the suit would fit!

“He’s scheming again! He takes out those insurance policies, and decides to steal the items himself, and claim the money on behalf of the school. It was perfect—the stolen items would never turn up, and no one needed to know about the insurance fraud! He’s frantic, though, he needed someone to blame, and his plan began unraveling. But then came Kurt, innocent baby-faced Kurt with the big blue eyes, to make the perfect suspect! It might’ve worked, had Madame Opal not have been suspicious of you. Having complete access to your office, she discovered those papers, and was planning to call you out on it! But you silenced her once and for all, didn’t you?” Shawn asked, turning back towards the headmaster.

“That’s absurd! You’re absurd!” the man shouted, enraged. “I hadn’t even known she had been stabbed until I came in here earlier with your assistant, and upon seeing her I fainted! How could I, with a weak heart for such things, have committed this crime?” he demanded.

“Easy. You claim you didn’t stab her, but how did you even know she had been stabbed in the first place? When you supposedly passed out, you knocked that lamp over during your fall. That would mean that you would’ve gone no farther than the doorway—but, if you’re standing at the doorway, you can’t even see her body! All you can see is a pool of blood, which could’ve been caused by many things. But since this is the second time you’ve mentioned a stabbing, you must be pretty sure of what happened,” Shawn said, eyeing the headmaster, who had begun to visibly pale.

“I—well—”

“Things aren’t looking too good for you, Dr. Richardson,” Shawn said. “But you’re a good man. Surely you must feel some guilt over brutally murdering her? If you confess now, I can guarantee that maybe, possibly your punishment will be lessened. But really, it’s not up to me,” he added. There was a moment’s silence, broken by a strangled sob coming from the headmaster’s throat.

“I—I did it,” he said, hanging his head. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he muttered, sounding broken and confused as a burly looking cop slapped the cuffs on and led him outside.

“Wow, that was almost easy,” Gus commented to Shawn nonchalantly.

“I know, usually I need _at least_ another incriminating vision… I guess he just had a guilty conscience,” Shawn replied. “Well, now that that’s over with, I say we go see if this town has anywhere to find a good smoothie,” Shawn said, holding out a fist for Gus to bump.

“You know that’s right,” Gus said nodding and bumping Shawn’s outstretched fist.

“So wait a second, that’s it?” Burt asked confused at how rapidly the atmosphere changed. “My son can leave now, right? You’re convinced he’s innocent, we don’t need to stick around for questioning?” he asked anxiously.

“Nope, even I don’t stick around for questioning. I’m more of a solve and dash and return just to get paid type of guy. Also, I always knew he was innocent,” Shawn said. 

“Thank you for _proving_ he was innocent,” Burt said, shaking Shawn’s hand gruffly. 

“No problem. Now, I have one more thing to take care of, if you’ll excuse me. Blaine!” Shawn called the curly haired teen over, and leading him slightly away from the crowd.

“Just ask him,” Shawn said when they were out of hearing range.

“I’m sorry?” Blaine asked, confused.

“Kurt. Ask him out. I’m a psychic, and I can tell you want to, but you’re just afraid. Trust me, he’ll say yes,” Shawn insisted.

“Look, I—I do want to. I _really_ want to, but I don’t want to screw up our friendship,” Blaine said, uncertainly.

“Trust me, I know how that is. But sometimes you just gotta have a little courage and take a blindfolded leap off of a cliff, and hope the waters below aren't infested with Piranhas,” Shawn said, meaning to sound comforting but probably scaring Blaine more than he was before. “Just trust me on this, I’m a psychic,” Shawn said, patting him on the shoulder and giving him a little shove towards where Kurt was standing. “Now go! Get your man or whatever,” Shawn said, returning to Gus. He glanced back once more to see Kurt and Blaine hugging, and Blaine shyly leaning up to kiss him on the mouth. At first Kurt looked shocked, but then a warm smile spread on his face.

“That was actually really nice of you,” said Gus, who had been watching from a few feet away.

“Eh, I kinda owe the kid… I may or may not have ruined his high school life, so at least now he has someone,” Shawn said shrugging. “Now c’mon, smoothie time,” Shawn said. Just as they were about to exit the building, a voice stopped them.

“Oh captain, my captain?”

Shawn and Gus spun around to see Kurt standing there, with the same grin on his face as when he was kissed by Blaine. He didn't remain standing there for long, however, and before he knew it, Shawn was hit with a hug from the smaller boy.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, releasing him and turning to hug Gus. “I mean it, for proving me innocent, and for giving Blaine the push he needed. Even if you _did_ make ever returning to McKinley significantly more difficult, at least now I’m not alone,” he said, giving a wave to both men before walking back to Blaine, who had a toothy grin on his features. He also gave them a wave, small yet saying so much.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I can’t wait to be out of here,” Shawn said, as they sat in the waiting room, having returned Shawn’s rental bike and Gus’ car. “Although I did enjoy the little thank you the two glee clubs put together for us,” Shawn added with a smile.

“Yeah, those Dalton boys reminded me of my Blackappella days,” Gus said reminiscing.

“And the dancing from the McKinley club was pretty good, too—not as good as my moves, but all in all, I’d say they did “Smooth Criminal” a fair amount of justice.”

“I suppose. So what exactly did you say to Blaine to get him to ask Kurt?” Gus inquired, flipping through a magazine he had bought at one of the airport’s kiosks.

“Not much; the kid was already head over heels, he just needed a push. Which reminds me,” Shawn said, whipping out his phone once more, “I think it’s time I practice what I preach.” The phone rang three times before someone picked up, and Shawn took a deep breath before speaking. “Jules?”


End file.
